Store Bought Serotonin

If You Can’t Make Your Own Serotonin, Store Bought is Fine

The other day, I was talking to Dissy about how I still chuckle to myself a bit when I think about the day my doctor gave me my antidepressant prescription.

After some trial and error, my doctor decided we were going old-school, and prescribed me Prozac. Why is this funny? To answer that, we have to jump into our wayback machine. The first antidepressants came out in the mid-1950s, and they had a terrifying list of side effects, that essentially took over the lives of patients on them.

When Prozac hit the market in 1987, promising all the benefits without the problems, it became hugely popular. Depression was slowly shedding the massive stigma that comes along with mental health issues, mostly among women. Which would have been a great thing, if not for the fact that people suck. Like, all the time.

Starting within a year of its introduction, Prozac became the go to joke for every mediocre dude who wanted everyone to think he was funny. All you have to do is make sleazy, sexist remarks about how middle-aged white women were all drugged out of their minds because they’re all crazy, and you’re suddenly a comedian.

When I was first diagnosed with anxiety and depression in my mid-20s, I spent most of my formative years being flooded with the message that these weren’t real illnesses. Instead,they were proof that women were, by their nature, unstable nutcases.

Naturally, I resisted these diagnoses, not wanting to believe I was one of those useless broads who couldn’t handle reality. Interestingly enough, mental health issues don’t just go away if you ignore them hard enough. Especially not when you’re in a horribly toxic relationship with someone who likes to deliberately make things worse. After all, if everyone knows your wife is a nutjob, who’s going to listen if she’s ever brave enough to seek help for the abuse you’ve been inflicting on her for years?

Fortunately, I was finally able to get rid of the dirtbag, and eventually started dating, then married Jay. Being the amazing human being he is, Jay started pushing me to take better care of myself. Apparently, running yourself into the ground trying to do everything for everyone isn’t particularly healthy. Imagine that!

 So first came therapy, and then I came to the realization that life would suck a lot less if I had medication to help my brain do the things it couldn’t do on its own.  I tried several other prescriptions, which didn’t work well for me, and so the doctor decided to try out old faithful.

Bottom line, we’re all fucking disasters. Everyone goes through shit, so if you’re having a really hard time, get some help. Maybe you need to see a therapist. Maybe you need medication. Or maybe both. There’s no reason to stubbornly continue suffering for years, because you think you’re supposed to just deal with it. Anyone tells you different? Fuck ‘em.

Cent’anni Bitches!

When Google is Not Your Friend

Today is the day for me, Dissy, to fly solo on the ol’ bloggy blog. Let’s see what I come up with.

I struggle with ideas, which is the reason we have committed to only having one day off a week. Supposedly, regularly working the old mind keeps the creative juices flowing or some shit like that.

I was perusing Google for something good and assholey to talk about because I’m still recovering from a bit of an episode yesterday, so my system is still in the middle of rebooting.

I had to be to work super early yesterday for overtime. In wanting to make sure my dog had the proper attention before I left her for the day, I walked off having completely forgotten to make sure I was taken care of. I left without taking my medication (antidepressants), and I didn’t take any with me or have any in my desk at work as a back up.

I had no idea withdrawals to antidepressants could kick in so fast. The longer I sat at my desk, the more I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. The fun part was the vertigo. Well, that and when I told a lady I would not talk to her customer because I do not work for her company. Eventually, the work day did come to an end, I made it home without driving off the Valley View Bridge, and I was able to take my last dose of the day. The best part of the day was being able to snuggle up with my Daisy-Lou.

but… I digress…

Usually, I count Google as one of my friends, but, in this particular instance, I’m going to have to say “not so much.”

Most of them actually had to do with one’s ass hole, which, to me, is way different than an asshole. Your ass hole is where poop comes from. Your asshole is me (and Barb). Anyhow… Probably the one that amused me most was, “How to Safely Stretch Your Anus.” *scratches head*

Why? Oh… wait… never mind.

That reminds me of a term I learned back on MySpace waaaaaaay back in the day. “goatse.” check it out if you dare. Warning: If you subscribe to “decorum,” “manners,” if you have “class,” or anything of the kind, do NOT look that up.

Wow… I just checked. It even has its own Wikipedia entry. and… it’s still there.

Okay… You back now? You know you went and looked. It’s okay. I understand. I have a curious nature myself. I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me. Just tell me down there in the comments if you did or if you didn’t. hahaha… see what I did there?

Well, now that I’ve rambled for a sufficient length of time, I will promise to you that tomorrow will be the beginning of something super neato. Tomorrow is the first installment of Tandem Tuesday!!

Stay tuned!!

Cent’anni, Bitches!